


Halloween Dribs & Drabs

by MarigoldVance



Series: Dribs & Drabbles [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (Durincest), (Fíli is a van Tassel), (Georgian era flirting), (dream sequences), (melancholy humor), (mild sexual content), (not related), (teenagers), (vampires), Addams Family AU, Alternate Universe, Dracula AU, Halloween, M/M, Sleepy Hollow AU, hocus pocus au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27246757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarigoldVance/pseuds/MarigoldVance
Summary: 4 AUs inspired by the Halloween spirit. each chapter corresponds to a differentspookyverseand are entirely unrelated.please heed the tags[pairings/ratings are listed in each chapter summary]
Relationships: Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Series: Dribs & Drabbles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000407
Comments: 14
Kudos: 12





	1. Hocus Pocus AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, G
> 
> Hocus Pocus but make if FiKi ...

≡

Kíli wasn’t a wimp, he’ll have you know. He was sixteen, tough, had been through a lot when his parents up and moved them halfway across the country from California to Massachusetts, away from his friends and school and everything familiar. In that time, he learned he could handle anything even if it was grossly unfair and he didn’t want anything to do with Salem. 

Well, except one thing.

(Fíli smiled shyly, Kíli blushed.)

Anyway, right then, faced with the ominous dark behind the line of trees in front of him, as tough as Kíli could be, he wasn’t feeling so sure of himself. Not that he was going to admit it with his kid brother acting all superior and brave. So, he took a deep breath and ventured onward until they came to a sign. 

**_Closed! No Trespassing!_** the wrinkled sheet poster shouted at them (and Kíli could picture the wagging finger that accompanied it). Beneath it, the blocky red print of the old customer greeting sign peeked through and declared the Sanderson house open from 12-5pm with an entrance fee of $3.00. The path next to it was unkempt, the bushes on either side overgrown and brittle. The house wasn’t visible from where they stood. According to Fíli, it was too far back and around a small bend.

As a unit, Fíli, Kíli and Tíli stepped onto the path and trooped forward.

“They found the bones of a hundred children buried in this hillside…” Tíli whispered as if there was something lurking in the shadows that he didn’t want to hear him.

Kíli puffed out his chest and lightly clipped Tíli on the back of the head.

“Ha ha ha.” He mocked, “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Tee. It’s bullshit.”

Tíli whirled around and pointed accusingly, “I’m telling mom you said a bad word!”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

Kíli snuck a glance at Fíli from under his lashes, hoping his nonchalance impressed him. Tíli wasn’t helping Kíli’s cred at all so far, always mouthing off and sassing back and Kíli was getting sick of it, especially since it kept drawing Fíli’s attention away from him. How was he supposed to get anywhere with Tíli being such a nuisance? 

When neither Fíli nor Tíli were paying attention, Kíli grabbed a stick from the underbrush on the side of the path and tossed it toward Tíli, “Oh look!” Kíli cried, “A thigh bone!”

Tíli squealed and launched himself into the safety of Fíli’s arms. For his part, Fíli jumped, skidded a few steps and whipped his head back and forth as if to find the culprit responsible for tearing the flesh from the not-really-a-bone. He eagerly welcomed Tíli’s tight embrace when the boy flew at him, looking desperate for the meager source of comfort.

It took Fíli a few seconds to realize what had happened, his brain slow from the shock of a good scare. Once he did, he started to laugh, nervous at first and then bolder once the embarrassment of his reaction subsided. Kíli joined in and then Tíli, though Tíli’s laugh held a note of skepticism. When it clicked and he understood what the joke was, he jerked around and glared at Kíli.

“That wasn’t funny, you know!” Tíli growled into the night and stomped down the path. “You’re such a jerk!”

“No I’m not!” Kíli called after him, nudging Fíli along as they jogged to catch up with Tíli.

The further they went, the more Kíli was starting to regret his earlier insistence to see the Sanderson house. It was dark, _spooky_ dark; that oppressive kind of dark that settles into your bones and chills you from the inside; that a person doesn’t need a reason to be afraid of because it promises terrible, gruesome things in its silence. There were no streetlamps nearby and whatever lighting the path had had before the museum closed wasn’t working.

Even the light of the moon, hung fat and low and bright, barely penetrated the thick canopy of woven black branches above them. Kíli had a fist gripped in the shoulder of Tíli’s costume to keep Tíli upright – or so Kíli said when Tíli grumped about it. Fíli marched quietly at Kíli’s right, his head bent to watch the bumpy ground for things that could trip him. He was a calm, solid presence, warm where the space was narrow between their arms but even the thrill of having Fíli so close wasn’t enough to dissuade the unease roiling in Kíli’s gut.

This. Was a giant mistake.

“There it is!” Tíli said, voice laced with awe.

The Sanderson house loomed at the top of a small incline, framed by trees more barren and dead than any in the surrounding woods. An echo of thin, silvery moonlight crept over the face of the cottage like an eerie mist, accentuating the cracks and empty spaces where the walls had come apart from age and neglect. Spidery vines curled up and around the whole front, rattling in the cold October wind.

Despite its appearance, seeing the house conjured the opposite response from Kíli. As creepy as the house was, it was just a house. Kíli wasn’t sure what he’d expected but seeing it squatting there, shrunken and still in its forgottenness, made it less frightening. His courage returned in his relief, Kíli dragged Tíli toward the front door.

“Hey!” Tíli protested but went easily.

“The witches’ ashes are supposed to be buried under the house.” Fíli said lightly as he used the key he’d stolen from his mother to unlock the door. He pushed the door open without effort and stepped through. “The Sanderson sisters were just misunderstood eccentrics, persecuted by ignorant people in an ignorant time.”

It sounded to Kíli like Fíli had thought a lot about it, whether by his mother’s influence or his own interest, Kíli was curious to find out. He wanted to know _everything_ about Fíli.

“Yeah, Tíli. They weren’t real witches.” Kíli said.

Tíli grumbled and walked away to inspect some of the artifacts still sitting in their displays. All kinds of oddities were showcased under thick, grey layers of dust: vials in strange shapes, mysterious devices, dried animals and glass jars filled with different colored powders, a _cauldron_.

Beside Kíli, Fíli snorted and shook his head mildly, knocking his shoulder into Kíli’s before moving around the podium where the guide would have stood to deliver the house’s history to its visitors. Kíli followed, close enough for their hands to brush when they moved.

“You been here before, like this?” Kíli asked, entire attention on Fíli’s face, still pink even in the murky dark.

“Me and my friends used to sneak in after hours all the time when we were little,” He admitted, “We’d play Ouija board and stuff.” He stopped and turned his body toward Kíli, his nose remaining pointed in the direction of the display case in the center of the room. “It was never like this. It’s … weird now.”

“Yeah it is!” Tíli wholeheartedly agreed. He wrapped his twiggy arms around his middle and curled in on himself, the creepiness of the place crowding in on him now that the excitement of breaking in had passed. “Can we go? I don’t like it anymore.”

Kíli piffed, “Don’t be such a baby, Tee. This is probably the coolest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Is not!”

“Yeah right.” Kíli said under his breath.

When Kíli glanced back at Fíli, the space where he’d been was empty. Whirling this way and that in a rambunctious, fullbodied movement, Kíli spotted him standing at the display case he’d been staring at before, hunched over and squinting at something. Immediately, Kíli went to his aid, rummaging the lighter he usually carried from his pocket.

“What’s that?”

Fíli tipped his head back at Kíli, the sight of his plush lower lip between straight white teeth making Kíli feel warm in his belly and cheeks. 

“Something I forgot about ‘til now.” Fíli said.

Kíli stripped the sparkwheel, holding the lighter aloft, its small orange flame emitting a strong enough glow to see by. Encased in the glass, a large tome was nestled in a purple velvet bed. Its cover was grotesque, the leather waxy and wet looking and reminding Kíli of pigskin. Raised scars segmented the cover, stapled closed like the wounds of a botched Frankenstein’s Monster. It was, by far, the ugliest thing in the room.

“So nasty.” Kíli muttered, cringing.

Fíli shrugged, not bothered. “Yeah, it’s kinda gross, I guess. Here, read this.”

Kíli leaned over to see the plaque that Fíli motioned to.

“The spellbook of Winifred Sanderson.” Kíli read. “Given to her by the Devil himself. Bound in— _ah, shit!_ ” Kíli flailed back, body juddering in repulsion, “Human skin!?”

“You said a bad word!” Tíli called from his corner by the wax figurines of the Sisters.

“Shut up.”

Kíli carefully, cautiously, stepped back to the display case, ignoring the way Fíli was chuckling at him. He turtled his neck into his shoulders and valiantly pressed on, “It … it contains the recipes for spells of destruction and life.”

Suddenly, a noise cut through the air, a scratchy, scuttly thing that bounced from corner to corner followed by the hollow scrape of metal and the flop of displaced heavy fabric. All three boys jumped, their hearts pitter-pattering into their throats, pinpricks of fear needling through their veins and raising goosebumps on their arms.

“What was that!?” Tíli screamed, scurrying at Kíli to hide between Kíli’s hip and the display case housing the spellbook. “Can we _please_ go now!?”

The noise sounded again and again and again, closer each time, circling them in a manner similar to what Kíli learned of predators from Discovery Channel. Clinks and clanks, rattles and scrapes, the items on the shelves pushed forward by something invisible. Kíli thrashed around, lifting his lighter in front of him while he held his brother against him tightly.

Fíli clung to Kíli’s sweater, fingers digging into the meat of Kíli’s sides through his layers. If he wasn’t so scared, Kíli would be delighted.

“I can’t see anything…” Fíli whimpered, his face crinkled in worry.

Kíli glanced from one end of the room to the other twice before he spotted something he thought could help.

“There!”

Together, they shuffled across the floor, Kíli leading their awkward dance as best he could without tripping over anyone’s feet. He hoisted Tíli along, butted Fíli, until they were where he needed them to be. The candle was mounted on a twisty iron sconce that protruded from the wall. Unlike the other candles around the room, this one had no evidence that it’d ever been lit, clean and glossy and its wick perfectly white.

Something seemed to occur to Fíli at the exact moment Kíli brought his lighter to hover over the wick because he physically perked up against Kíli’s back.

“Wait!” He cried but his voice was muted by a cruel, piercing feline shriek.

When the flame kissed the tip of the wick, a hard, squirmy _creature_ smacked into the side of Kíli’s head, knocking him backwards into Fíli who fell into the wall. Panic singed through Kíli as he grappled with his assailant, thin talonlike nails lashing slivers into his neck and chin. The struggle continued for several seconds before Kíli managed to find a grip around two bony limbs and wrench it off, spiking the creature through the air.

They heard it land with a thump on top of the display case with the spellbook inside, and then a small, angry voice shocked them by yelling from the same direction, “Don’t light it! Don’t light the candle, stupid boy!”

But when Kíli looked up, it was too late.

The black flame sizzled and burst to life.

≡


	2. The Addams Family AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, T

≡

“Oh, Thing,” Kíli woed where he lounged across the rotted sill of the open window, the wind ruffling him theatrically, “I believe mother and father mean to replace me.”

He slouched until his chin was tucked into his chest. Dark hair and darker clothes were damp from the rain, his face struck in aggrieved lines and his lips – the color of blood in water – were parted on a sigh of Shakespearean tragedy.

Kíli was the most pitiful thing Fíli had ever laid eyes on.

He could never hope to want anything more.

“Thing is with the baby.” Fíli said from his place at the door, voice void of inflection and dim as night. “The one mother and father will love more than you, I suspect.”

Fíli enjoyed the bite of cruelty. Kíli was at his most beautiful when he was hurting.

“So, it _is_ true?”

“Absolutely. Everyone knows, my dearest, that when you have a new baby, one of the other children has to die.”

Kíli swung his legs over and planted his feet on the floor so he was sat upright, hands curled into the wood on either side of his thighs. Fíli admired how his lashes curtained his downcast gaze, how his loose hair hung limp around his shoulders, how his skin was iridescent where it glowed like the moon between the drapes of his black satin shirt.

Kíli swallowed, tipped his head up and asked, “Really?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s tradition.”

Fíli crossed the room and stepped into the space that always welcomed him between his brother’s legs. They watched each other for a moment, silent and dreary; Fíli found himself forcing his control in the despair of Kíli’s absolute trust in him. 

Against his will, Fíli’s hands lifted to cradle Kíli’s jaw, an act of condolence that, with anyone else, Fíli wouldn’t be damned to initiate. Kíli blinked, wide and glassy, and tipped his head into the touch. 

“We’ll be cursed with good fortune if we don’t follow tradition.”

Kíli gasped, horrified. 

Fíli reveled. 

And his body continued to bestow his touch upon Kíli. Disappointed in himself, Fíli heaved a rough sigh and resigned to the sensations his body so wantonly craved whenever he was that close to his brother. It was futile to try to amputate himself once he’d started touching Kíli. 

The pad of one thumb rubbed over Kíli’s lower lip – soft and sweet as arsenic – and used the pressure to reveal the bottom row of Kíli’s bone white teeth. Fíli forced his thumb into Kíli’s mouth, all the way to the webbing, and was immediately gratified when Kíli hollowed his cheeks and sucked; lapped over it with his wet tongue before pulling away for Fíli to smear his spit across his chin.

“Why me?” He asked miserably, already yearning for Fíli’s brand of comfort.

Fíli leaned down and inhaled the scent of loam and decay that clung to Kíli after another day spent wallowing in the cemetery with their grandfather.

“Mmm,” Fíli ran his hands down the fragile column of Kíli’s throat, along the sharp edges of his collarbones and down the flat expanse of his chest, stopping once his fingertips reached the dusting of gunpowder dark hair that disappeared beneath Kíli’s waistband. Kíli’s breath hitched but he made no noise, waiting for Fíli’s answer. “Because I’m the heir.”

Unable to deny himself, Fíli lurched forward, nipped sharply at his brother’s mouth, licked into it with the ferocity of a starving man. Kíli’s spidery legs banded around his hips, long arms around Fíli’s shoulders, leveraging himself into Fíli’s arms. With ease, Fíli pulled him up, fingers digging like talons into the flesh of Kíli’s arse.

“You’ll keep me anyway, won’t you Fee?”

Solemnly, voice hard and unwavering, Fíli said, “Forever.”

≡


	3. Dracula AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, M

≡

The night of the storm had roused something in him; something that had been dormant for so long, he’d been certain it had ceased to exist altogether. Every sensation had descended at once, wracked his body in cascades no unliving thing should be capable of experiencing after discarding their humanity. 

Smells, tastes, lust, _hunger_ , had pulsed through him, as real and vivid as the new blood in his veins. His heart had lurched and then lurched again until it had found its rhythm. Fíli had opened his mouth wide, tipped his head toward heaven and sucked in a deep, satisfying breath; the first in centuries. He had appreciated the way the air filled his throat, expanded and contracted his lungs; the way the rain in the wind tasted on his lips, tongue – against his face, his eyelids, his _skin._

This, Fíli had thought that night, is Nirvana. 

Now, in command of himself anew, Fíli can wait no more. He detaches himself from the shadows and drifts towards the center of the room, a helpless moth. The bed – a magnificent construction of sturdy maple, spacious and plush – sits in a watery pool of grey moonlight that streams through the patio doors. A breeze curls into the room, caresses and rustles, touches what draws Fíli closer without scruple. 

Fíli never knew one could be jealous of the wind. 

On the bed rests a single body, snug in its nest of luxury. The duvet is pushed down and slightly away, leaving only the thin bedsheets to protect whatever modesty is required alone in one’s own company. Beneath, there is nothing but acres of olive flesh and dark thatches of hair, peaks and valleys Fíli feels a stirring of desperation for, yearning to explore every expanse with his mouth.

 _Kíli_ , his mind hisses in longing. Fíli’s hand hovers, open, over the boy’s cheek, not quite brave enough yet to touch. Fíli wants this to be real so much that he’s afraid it couldn’t possibly; that his Kíli now lies – prone and pliant and waiting – before him after countless lifetimes apart is— 

Whether it’s a miracle from God or a trick from the Devil, Fíli doesn’t care. He would sell his soul all over again, a thousand times, and be tormented for eternity just for a chance to taste Kíli once more. 

Fíli’s eyes drag from the dark fan across the pure white pillows, down to proud brows, to the thick, black lashes kissed across the sharp arches of sleep-blushed cheeks. Dusky lips parted on soft, even breaths, the hint of wet heat and playful muscle behind sweetly imperfect teeth. His arms are flung away, one stretched beneath the pillows, the other bent at the elbow, hand curled and tucked close to his face. His legs, thick and sinewy and dusted with fur, are unlike what Fíli recalls of his last form but make Fíli salivate all the same. 

This is not the boy, small and supple and feminine in feature, that Fíli worshiped in the past. This boy is new, older, unmistakably male. 

And Fíli _wants_. 

Unable to resist— _he missed his boy so much_ —Fíli settles himself on the bed, fitting himself into the slight tapering of Kíli’s waist, and leans over him. He takes a deep, full breath, Kíli’s blood-warm scent drawing him closer, closer, until the tip of his nose is drawing a line from Kíli’s shoulder to the sensitive hollow behind Kíli’s ear. 

Kíli smells as he did then, spiced and rich, loam and damp wood and cinnamon. Fíli’s gums itch, pull unpleasantly, and his fangs descend. Kíli makes him a fool, dizzies him, blinds him of rational thought. The threat of Kíli’s uncle discovering Fíli looms, the man keeping a closer eye on his nephew since the events on the night of the storm. That his boy’s friend has ties to Van Helsing bodes no good either. 

Fíli should have left Kíli alone. 

_Not Kíli_ , his mind whispers mutinously, _not anymore._

The growl escapes his throat before Fíli recognizes the noise as his own. 

_No. Not Kíli. Killian Durinson. And yet ..._

It doesn’t matter, Fíli insists, he’ll still have him; have Kíli any way he comes. And how he comes now is sticky from the summer heat, eyes squinting in sleep, brows drawn, his heartbeat quickening the more Fíli’s nose runs the path of Kíli’s – _Killian’s –_ throat. Emboldened by Kíli’s reaction, Fíli peeks his tongue out, chances a taste of the vulnerable meat under his boy’s chin. It’s rough and stubbled and tastes of salt and Fíli has never been so hungry for anything. 

Goosebumps rise in patches where Fíli’s cool breath hits the damp his tongue leaves behind.

A stuttering gasp, a quiet groan.

Fíli runs his fingers, light as smoke, over Kíli’s chest, through the carpet of dark whorls, barely glancing the peak of one brown nipple. Fíli pauses there, lengthens the nail of his forefinger, uses it to scratch the flat of it before trailing over the peak again, _once twice_ , and then _pinches_. He rolls the nub between his thumb and forefinger; rubs it soothingly with the pad of his thumb which he quickly replaces with his mouth when Kíli arches into Fíli’s ministrations on a broken moan.

“ _Yes_ ,” Fíli whispers, panting into Kíli’s jaw, “ _Feel me_ , _do not fear me_ ,” His words are laced with command, rippling through Kíli’s unconscious. 

Kíli’s eyes snap open in the same instant he barks a sound of pleasure, loud in the night. Fíli slaps a hand over Kíli’s mouth momentarily, asking for silence, but doesn’t otherwise interrupt what he’s doing. Kíli’s skin is trapped between Fíli’s pointed teeth, Fíli’s tongue pressing and easing by turns as he sucks his claim just below Kíli’s hairline. There, it will be hidden from the unworthy, prying eyes of Kíli’s houseguests and his uncle. 

Kíli’s arms wind their way around Fíli’s shoulder and waist respectively, one of Kíli’s hands tangling in Fíli’s hair, his body undulating from the sensations Fíli bestows upon him. His hips thrust upward, his fingers clench, his head tilts further to the side, granting Fíli more access. 

“ _Please_ ,” Kíli whimpers, and it’s clear he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. He tugs Fíli’s hair, shifts and nudges Fíli until they’re rearranged. 

Fíli settles comfortably between Kíli’s thighs, the rest of him draped from pelvis to chest along his boy’s solid form. It’s like coming home after a narrow victory on the battlefield; fear and triumph and grace all at once. Kíli writhes, forces Fíli away from his task of bruising Kíli’s neck. 

Their eyes catch and hold, Fíli as entranced, as intoxicated, as Kíli who’s eyes are glazed from the influence of Fíli’s hypnotic spell. 

“Who are you?” Kíli’s voice washes through Fíli like a physical sensation, causing his lids to drop and his lips to part, whole being savoring the experience of it. “Why have you come to me?”

“I couldn’t stay away.” Fíli admits. He cups his palm around the angle of Kíli’s jaw and brushes his thumb across Kíli’s lower lip, gentle and loving. 

“It’s you, isn’t it? From the other night.” Kíli encourages Fíli’s thumb into his mouth, sucks it in and teases the fingerprint with his blunt teeth and lashes of tongue. 

Fíli groans, enjoying the sight, and answers, “It is.”

Kíli pushes Fíli’s thumb out with a kiss and rolls his hips up, the line of his hard cock, still trapped under the sheet, meeting Fíli’s in a long, sensuous drag that catches a satisfied noise in both their throats. 

“What do you mean to do with me?”

Fíli rears up, undoes the buttons of his trousers and shoves them down without finesse. His cock springs free, heavy and flushed, throbbing in a way it hasn’t been able to in as long as Fíli’s been dead. It salutes Kíli, glistening tip dribbling assurances of everything Fíli intends to do. Kíli’s eyes widen a fraction and then droop prettily, his ruddy face going slack and eager. Bending forward, placing his hands on either side of Kíli’s head, Fíli drags the tip through the coarse hair from Kíli’s groin to his navel, in minute thrusts, smearing his slick as he goes. He then lays his weight fully over Kíli which lines them up perfectly though unintentionally – Fíli had wanted to do this at a slower pace, wanted to appreciate each moment, commit it all to memory one frame at a time. But Kíli is squirming and keening and Fíli is compelled to oblige him. 

“I need to have you.” Fíli confesses, coiled tight and willing to beg. 

Without hesitation, Kíli slips his hands around Fíli’s nape, thumbs tight and stroking adoringly through Fíli’s beard. He holds Fíli there, staring into Fíli’s eyes with raw promise, “Then I'm yours.” 

Fíli swallows Kíli’s promise savagely, fangs piercing the fragile, puffy pink flesh of his lips, and turns their kiss filthy with Kíli’s blood. Like liquid fire, it thrums through Fíli, branching through his body and rooting at his core, in his heart, causing it to beat harder, faster. He nips his tongue, draws blood toxic with his essence, lets it bead on his tastebuds. It mixes with his saliva and Kíli’s syrupy blood and combines in a heady cocktail that he feeds Kíli through their kiss. Just like that, his boy’s fate is sealed, and Fíli knows it would bring him to his knees if he weren't already on them, surrounded by Kíli, drunk on Kíli’s blood, lost in Kíli’s passion. 

This, Fíli thinks for the second time in as many weeks – more convinced in his belief, is Nirvana. 

≡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ i have no idea if Bram Stoker’s Dracula felt “alive again” after drinking Lucy’s blood. i assume he didn’t. that the blood he drank just ... i dunno, contributed to making him all young and handsome again (all the better to seduce and kill you with). the above is entirely MY interpretation and imagining of Dracula and Vampirism. so obviously and shamelessly transformed into the beginning of a Victorian, male-equivalent-of-a-bodice ripper _ 😅 _this scene doesn't exist anywhere in any interpretation of Dracula (as far as i know) ... ya girl just wanted to fool around with writing something mildly scandalous (i'm still on a glacial mission to write smut)_


	4. Sleepy Hollow AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, G

≡

_The storm raged outside, rattled the windows and shook the walls. Though the fire pushed the shadows back under his bed, Kíli remained tucked to his chin, trembling in fear. He felt smaller, or perhaps the world was bigger there, he couldn’t be sure._

_When his eyes felt their widest and his skin was pimpled from the chill of his panic, the bed dipped. The form that dipped it brought more than the heat of being alive; the unspoken promise of safety radiated, enveloping Kíli as snugly as his blanket. Kíli tried to blink the wateriness from his eyes but his sight continued to blur around the most important features._

_Still, he knew without knowing who it was, sat at his side in the middle of the night, in the light of a fire that burned too yellow, humming a gentle tune and rubbing away the achy knot of fear in his chest._

_It had been so long – so so long – since he’d seen her, but Kíli could never misplace the memory of his mother’s serenity. He felt more than saw her smile, a small, almost lazy thing that made her eyes warm and her brow soft. The vague scent of cinnamon and clove clung to Kíli’s senses, familiar yet not quite right. This was how he knew he was dreaming._

_After a few minutes of reassurance, emphasised by her presence, his mother straightened her back._ _From between the ruffles of her dress she pulled out a paper circle, attached on either side to thin strands of string, with a picture of a cardinal in midflight painted in the middle. It wasn’t something Kíli had seen before though he knew he had; knew he carried that very thing in his breast pocket everywhere he went when his mother wasn’t using it to calm him in his dreams. There, in that place, Kíli waited for his mother to explain its purpose._

_“Watch carefully, little bug.”_

_She twisted the ribbons, slow at first and then a little faster. The cardinal flipped, forward and back, and then ... the image distorted. Kíli frowned and sat up, his hands and the blanket he’d clutched tightly until that point falling limply into his lap because he couldn’t be certain, but it looked as if—yes! yes! A cage appeared to tame the cardinal and then disappeared and then appeared again! The thrum of astonishment, of a wonder only a child could manage, ignited inside Kíli, catching and burning away all his lingering fear._

_“Is it magic?” Kíli asked. And though it seemed he’d asked with a mouthful of sand, his mother understood – she had always understood – and replied,_

_“It is if you believe it is.”_

_Just as his mother leaned down to drop a kiss on his crown, she was wrenched away, dragged, screaming, through the red door at the end of the aisle and Kíli couldn’t keep up, his blanket caught around his ankles, his arms too heavy to maneuver. He pushed against an invisible current, yelling, trying to tell her he’d come, he’d save her, only no sound escaped, trapped behind the walls of his teeth even as he stretched his jaw—_

“No!” Kíli jolted upright, his bed spitting him out with the violent impetus.

Instantly, his mind registered where he was, that he wasn’t in danger and there was nothing he could do for his mother anymore. The dream bled out of him quickly only to leave his throat parched and his skin clammy under sweat-drenched nightclothes. He allowed himself an extra moment to remember the torment that likely inspired the dream, picked it apart and reassured himself with his logic and science. He also took a second to curse Brom van Brunt and his brand of simple meanness.

Kíli yanked himself up, using the bed for purchase, stood and hastily stripped himself of his wet layers. Although he suspected he was alone in his wakefulness at such an hour, Kíli rummaged his shirt and his trousers from the chair where he’d left them, shoving his limbs where they belonged and taking minimal time to adjust the way the clothes fell on his form. He didn’t intend to need them very long; just a trip downstairs and back.

Feet shoved into his boots and candlewick lit, Kíli took the servants’ stairs down to the kitchen, somewhat mindful to avoid the creaks. A pitcher and cup greeted him from the table, the pitcher full and the water nicely cold. As he moved to fill the cup however, a cast of light flickered near his feet, grabbing his attention away from relieving his dry throat. Kíli replaced the pitcher and blew out his candle, standing it beside the empty cup – he had no use of it, the glow enough to see by as he followed it from the kitchen, down the corridor, all the way to the end. Although the door he found himself in front of was resting only slightly ajar, the glow spilled out as if the door was open entirely. It was so bright and cheery and lifted the rest of Kíli’s spirits out of the doom and gloom they’d been stuck in since Brom’s performance.

Something about the light – or perhaps it was that stamp in time, the moment itself – felt _safe_ , _familiar_ , the sensation vague as shadow as it teased the periphery of Kíli’s mind but comforting him nonetheless. Curious, Kíli opened the door and entered the room. The fire roared, healthy and orange, and lit up every corner. At a glance, Kíli could tell this was a room reserved for sewing; a loom stood in one corner and the baskets of fabric and thread illuminating him to the fact. However, it wasn’t being used for such.

Draped across the sofa, head propped on one arm and ankles crossed on the other, was young master van Tassel, dressed in nothing but a sheer, open nightshirt and his underthings, reading a book. He had the air of someone completely unconcerned about the possibility – and now reality – of being stumbled upon in such a state of undress. Kíli was startled speechless, throat clogged with words that all sounded too much like his grandmother’s than his own.

Poor Sarah could have been the one to find him, for pity's sake!

Of course, Kíli didn’t think he’d be so scandalized by the sight of a disheveled young van Tassel if he hadn’t been privy to the scene the man had made of himself outside of the homestead on the night Kíli had arrived. The image flashed behind Kíli’s eyelids, imprinted there to tease him – two men passionately embraced; one, golden and unabashed, stepped back to overtly admire Kíli with predatory amusement and was grabbed by the collar and returned to his task of making his companion moan. It was unheard of. Inappropriate. Savagely sinful. It made Kíli hot and cold at once, made his gut tug and his spine tingle. Never in his life had Kíli wanted to be caged in by another's body the way he had in the dark of the porch that night. Lord, he'd never concerned himself with such things, never entertained ideas of that nature. Then again no one had ever piqued his fancy quite the way young van Tassel had in a moment that was less than a moment. He was a strong gust of wind on a still day.

“Can I help you, Constable Crane?” Young van Tassel’s voice tore Kíli from his rambling thoughts and returned him forcefully to the present. His blue eyes glittered with mirth, the smile beneath his beard cheeky and dimpled. He had an arm across the back of the sofa and was watching Kíli closely.

Kíli’s heart jumped at being discovered when he’d meant to turn around and leave young van Tassel to his privacy. Kíli blinked several times, eyes skirting the wall behind young van Tassel, unable to confidently hold the man’s gaze after what Kíli had just been thinking about him.

“I – pardon my intrusion,” Kíli said at last, “I saw a light … ”

“It is no intrusion,” young van Tassel said and shifted on the sofa with the obvious intention of making room for Kíli. “I come here to read when I am wakeful.”

Kíli stepped into the room, closed the door behind him and moved around the sofa to take the seat young van Tassel offered him.

“Mister van Tassel—”

“Please, call me Fíli.” Fíli clapped a hand on Kíli’s shoulder and shook him companionably.

Regarding him and seeing no game, Kíli loosened a tiny smile, “Then you shall call me Kíli.”

“Very well. Now, tell me Kíli, what keeps you from sleeping so late in the night?”

Kíli tensed, shook his head and stood again, the feeling of Fíli’s hand falling away an odd loss that Kíli mildly considered. He stared into the fire and waited for Fíli to say something else but Fíli didn’t, rather pulling the silence into something gentle and less imploring. Kíli heard the squeak of floorboards when Fíli stood and joined him in front of the fireplace. Fíli perched an arm on the mantel to rest his forehead there, his thick fingers dangling. The heat of the fire warmed Kíli’s front while Fíli’s eyes practically seared into the side of Kíli’s head. The intensity Kíli could feel shook an answer from him.

“Dreams.” He confessed. “Of my mother. Strange how she always knows when I need her comfort most.”

“And you were in need of it tonight?”

“I was.” Kíli peeked at Fíli from behind his veil of dark hair. Fíli didn’t appear judgmental, his face sweetly open. “Your man, Brom, thought it would be amusing to chase me across the bridge, costumed as your Hollow’s horseman.”

Fíli groaned and pushed away from the fireplace, loping back to fall onto the sofa.

“I apologize for his folly. He lacks good sense.”

“He lacks a lot more than that,” Kíli didn’t mean to say, surprising himself.

Behind him, Fíli barked a laugh, “Too right!” He sobered quickly and added, “Truly, I am sorry he did that to you. No one deserves to be frightened for the sake of another’s insecurities.”

Kíli turned enough to face Fíli, “Insecurities?”

Fíli made a large gesture with one arm and sunk further into the sofa, “Yes. He believes you’ve caught my attention.”

“And…have I?”

A wicked, lustful expression bloomed across Fíli’s features, sucking the air straight from Kíli’s lungs. It was gone in a blink, though, and Fíli composed himself, rising again to meet Kíli on his feet.

“Perhaps, Kíli. If that is what you’d like.”

Blood rushed in Kíli’s ears, flushed his face a hot red. Sharp sparks of some foreign want coursed through Kíli’s bones as Fíli stepped into his space, too close to be mistaken as friendly.

“I. Suppose.”

Fíli raised an eyebrow. Kíli cleared his throat and turned toward the window. He willed the moment to pass, uncomfortable with every new emotion that licked through him. This wasn’t ground he’d ever tread before and Kíli didn’t like to be surprised. Carefully, he returned them to safer territory by asking:

“What were you reading before I interrupted you?”

Fíli’s eyebrows dipped above his nose briefly, but the mischief cleared from his face and he smiled kindly.

“It was a book that belonged to my mother.” He explained, drifting to the window where he leaned against it and folded his arms. Despite his reservations, Kíli had to acknowledge that the man was stunning to behold, blond hair loose and unkempt, totally unbefitting a gentlemen of his station. The fabric of his nightshirt was billowy and open to just above the navel, showcasing a truly beguiling view of Fíli’s furry chest which Kíli resolutely ignored in favor of lingering his gaze on Fíli’s lips as he spoke, “My father frowned at them then and would frown at me now. He believes tales of romance caused the brain fever that killed my mother.” He looked up, “She died two years ago come midwinter.”

Of the things that surprised Kíli about the roguish young van Tassel, the fancy he found in stories of romance wasn't among them. Somehow, it made the most sense of anything Kíli had encountered so far in Sleepy Hollow.

Kíli said about Fíli's mother, “I saw it written in front of the Bible.”

“The nurse who cared for her during her sickness is now Lady van Tassel, and her daughter now my stepsister...”

Their conversation continued, small mysteries unravelling themselves until Kíli was eager to accept Fíli’s offer to see the first home Fíli had known before his father acquired his considerable wealth. Throughout, Fíli laid innuendos like breadcrumbs that Kíli hesitantly stored away in his mind for later analysis, but Fíli otherwise remained at a respectable distance. His touch only lingered once, when he fixed the collar of Kíli’s coat before they mounted their horses.

If he failed to solve this crime, Kíli mused, at least he wouldn’t leave Sleepy Hollow without something – someone – to think fondly back on.

That is, his mind brazenly supplied, if he would choose to leave that someone behind at all...

≡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't imagine Kee being a complete coward. or even the endearing Depp-level coward that Ichabod was in Tim Burton's film (that this snack fic is based on). which, yes, i know, Ichabod isn't really a coward though, is he?, in Burton's film because he still bravely follows the clues and tries to solve the crime. **however** my point is about Kee! in my head, Kee is a little more bold and a little less fainty. for example, the scene before the above (when Ichabod is chased by Brom van Brunt and faints after the excitement? ... Kee instead takes a moment to calm himself and then gets up. He doesn't pass out like Ichabod does in the film ... because no). 
> 
> that is all, my lovelies!!
> 
> 💀⛓️🦇 **HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!** 👻🕸️🎃


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